Death, taxes, and the dentist
by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt
Summary: There are three things in this world that no one likes, and Stiles is waiting for his appointment with one of them.


The first thing people usually associated with the dentist was the smell. A mix of pungent and mucous scorching disinfectant, and a stale undertone of latex gloves. What truly set it apart from other smells of the doctor, and Stiles had actually googled this, was something called eugenol. Apparently, it was used for local anesthesia. This marinade of smells was what got your palms sweaty and nausea brewing in your stomach. It also slowed Stiles' steps when they entered the local dentist's waiting room.

Determined Derek grabbed Stiles' damp hand and sat him down. The brownish grey chair let out an embarrassingly loud wheezing sound when Stiles' weight pushed the excess air out of the cushion. Derek selected a magazine at least two months old from the bin and began to browse it.

"How can people read at a moment like this?" Stiles asked. "Your mouth is gonna be full of needles, spikes, mirrors, and drills in a minute, but hey, why not catch up with the latest celebrity gossip in the meantime?"

Derek kept browsing without paying attention to his whining, and the pages shined in the bright fluorescent light. Stiles shifted in his seat and sighed heavily. His knee bounced, and fingers tapped against the leather armrest. Derek tried to concentrate on reading, but the restless drumming soon got to his nerves and he put his hand over Stiles' dancing fingers.

"Try to get a hold of yourself," he said quietly.

"Well, I can't!" Stiles half whispered, half snapped. Curious people glanced at their direction behind their magazines, and he lowered his voice. "I feel like I'm about to blow up and suffocate at the same time."

Admittedly Stiles' face had a nauseating pale shade and his forehead seemed clammy. Derek knew about his panic attack tendencies but fortunately, the situation wasn't as dire as that. At least, not yet. But if they had to wait for much longer Derek couldn't guarantee Stiles won't stress himself into a full-blown panic attack. He squeezed the cold, damp hand a bit tighter.

Just in time to hold him emotionally together when one of the treatment room doors flew open and an older woman was wheeled out on a stretcher. Her face and the pillowcase were smeared with blood. The man steering the bed looked serious as he rushed through the waiting room and out the narrow fire doors.

"Nope," Stiles said and stood up to escape in tow of the previous patient.

At the same time, another treatment room's door was opened, and a nurse holding a folder stepped out.

"Stilinski?" she called and looked around.

Stiles froze on his track, and Derek took advantage of the momentary confusion. He gripped Stiles' shoulders in a tight hold and ushered him through the door the nurse held open for them. She looked at their no doubt weird bodily fusion but kept all the comments to herself.

She instructed Stiles to sit in the grey operating chair, and he settled there stiff as a stick. Derek could clearly see the arch of his back which didn't touch the backrest even a little. He was clasping the armrests so hard his nails were white.

"Stay?" he asked with a shaky voice from Derek who was just about to go back to reading in the waiting room.

"Are you serious?"

"Please?"

Derek rolled his eyes but dragged a stool next to the operating chair. Stiles fumbled for his hand, and Derek gave it to him to squeeze like a stress toy. His breathing wheezed heavy, and Derek thought of mentioning about his panicking to the nurse when the door was yanked open and a tall man briskly entered the room. Stiles flinched, and his face went as grey as the chair.

"Okay, what do we have here?" The nurse handed him the thin folder, and he flipped through the papers. "Afternoon, Mr. Mi – Miec – Mr. Mie, um, Mr. Stilinski?" He glanced at them, and his eyebrows raised at Stiles holding Derek's hand, but he, too, chose not to comment. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing," Stiles said.

"Lately, his teeth have been hurting whenever he eats something cold," Derek stepped in. The doctor looked from Stiles to Derek and back to Stiles again, obviously confused by the situation and not sure which one he should address.

"Okay. Can you describe the pain?"

"What pain? I'm fine."

"It's like a shooting pain. Doesn't last very long."

The unsure doctor settled to ask his questions from the papers. "And this happens only when he's eating something cold?"

"Yes. I can smell it."

He looked up in the middle of turning a page. "Smell it?"

"Yeah, he's a wer – "

"Or more like I can sense it. That he's in pain. You know," Derek tried to shrug nonchalant, "you can see when someone's uncomfortable."

"Sure," the doctor said slowly after a pause.

His confusion seemed to increase every time Derek opened his mouth which was perhaps why he decided it was better to just get to it. The teeth will tell him what he needed to know. He rolled his stool next to Stiles' lowered head, put on his facemask, and adjusted a bright lamp right at his face.

"Okay, let's take a look then. Open wide, please."

Stiles' Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, and for a brief moment it looked like he would refuse, but Derek brushed his thumb over his bony knuckles and he opened his mouth reluctantly.

"Uh-huh." The doctor inspected the teeth with a small mirror. "And can you tell me where exactly it hurts?"

"The lower molars on the right side."

The doctor adjusted the light and stretched Stiles' cheek out of the way to get a better view.

"A sickle probe, please," he said to the nurse over his shoulder, and she handed him a small, sharp, hook-looking instrument. Stiles' fingers tightened around Derek's hand.

The doctor poked around Stiles' mouth and the scraping sound of the hook turned Derek's stomach a little. Carefully, he went through the molars one by one, and couple times Stiles winced and flinched. When he couldn't find anything wrong he checked the left side, too. Nothing there, either.

The doctor removed the tools from Stiles' mouth, pulled off his mask, and straightened himself. The metal instruments clinked when he laid them back on the tray.

"It's doesn't look like you have any cavities, so we're good on that." Stiles' whole body visibly relaxed as he slumped in the chair. "But you do have some calculus. How often do you brush your teeth?"

"Twice a day," Stiles said. The sudden relief of nervousness made him pliant and easy to get honest answers from.

"Do you floss?"

"Sometimes."

"Okay. You should definitely do that more often and regularly. When you stay on top of calculus, it saves you from a lot of trouble. I'm going to book you an appointment with our dental hygienist," he nodded at the nurse who turned to type something on the computer, "and she will go over the correct brushing techniques with you and all that."

"Is that really necessary? I'm pretty sure I can brush my teeth at this age."

"Sounds good, just tell us the when and where," Derek said and untangled his poor hand that had gone through a lot in Stiles' panicked squeeze. "What about the pain, though?"

"You heard the good doctor, I don't have any cavities."

"It actually has to do with the gums. They seemed a bit inflated, which is due to the calculus, and when there's inflammation they tend to recede and expose the root of the tooth." The doctor balled his fist and showed how the gums go down. "Now, when you eat something cold especially, the exposed area causes the pain."

"So, if I get him to floss more, the pain will stop?"

The doctor tossed his gloves to the trash bin and squirted some disinfectant on his hand. "Essentially, yes."

"Or, I could just stop eating cold things," Stiles piped in.

"Also, one of your wisdom teeth seemed to be pushing through. Let's book you an X-ray for that."

"Okay, I think we're done here." Stiles slid off the treatment chair and yanked off the little blue bib around his neck. "Before my gums are bleeding any more than they already are, for the love of god, let's get out of here."

 **~~oOo~~**

Derek put the tray of water and painkillers on the nightstand and nudged the Stiles-shaped lump under the blankets. He had been sleep-sulking in their bed the whole day after his dentist appointment in the morning. They had pulled his wisdom tooth, and it had been a long, rough day. For both of them.

"Time for your pills."

"I haf you," came a muffled slur under the covers.

"You'd hate me less if you just let me do the thing."

"Nof, I thill haf you."

"Come on." He nudged the lump again. "The doctor said we should stay ahead of the pain."

The blankets were angrily tossed aside, and Stiles glared at him. The whole right side of his face was swollen so the glare was lopsided. Not any less vicious, though. Stiles wiped drool off his cheek but forgot to be careful for a second and winced in pain.

"Ftay aheaf of fhe dain?! Well, you'fe lade foh fhaf."

Derek handed him the pill and glass of water. "Look, I got you a straw, too. The bendy kind. And your favorite mug."

Stiles glared at the mug with equal disdain. "I don'f like Sfiderman."

Then why the hell is my kitchen cupboard full of his stupid face, Derek thought to himself but bit his tongue.

"Just _take_ it," he muttered between tight lips.

Through the widest gap he could manage – which wasn't much – Stiles wiggled the tablet into his mouth and sucked some water through the straw while Derek held the mug for him. He bent his head backward and managed to flush the medicine down. Judging by the furrow of his brows it wasn't a completely painless process.

"It hufs," he said, and all the earlier venom had been replaced with misery.

"Want me to bring the cold pack? It's probably frozen again by now."

Stiles shook his head and adjusted the pillow in a way that hurt the least before gingerly laying back down. Derek set the water on the nightstand and turned to leave, but the hem of his shirt was tugged.

"Sfay?" Stiles asked quietly.

Without any remarks, Derek settled behind him, and Stiles pulled his arm around himself and cradled it against his chest.

"I don'f feally haf you."

"I know."

"If juf feally hufs."

Not that Stiles needed to tell him that. Derek could smell it on him. The pungent reek that burned his senses and overpowered Stiles' natural scent. "I know," he repeated and gave Stiles' hand a little squeeze. "Do you want me to do the thing?"

Stiles fell silent for so long Derek thought the painkiller had knocked him out already but then his shoulders gave the tiniest shrug. Deciding that was as close to a yes as he'll ever get Derek took a deep breath and pressed his hand that Stiles was hugging tight against his chest, over the heart.

It began with the familiar tingling sensation, similar to when he was about to turn. Like blood was rushing back to a limb after falling asleep. Pins and needles. The tingling was soon replaced with warm shivers running through his veins, and black lines pulsated up towards Derek's elbow. The absorbed pain always was at its highest peak in the beginning, and the warmth soon got uncomfortable. It felt like boiling hot liquid was making its way through his veins.

Derek held on nevertheless. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hand so tight his nails dug into his palm. Little by little the heat subdued as the pain eased up, and Stiles' shoulders visibly relaxed. Derek released his breath and leaned his damp forehead against the back of Stiles' head. He listened to both of their heartbeats slowing down and falling into a rhythm.

"Better?" he asked, but Stiles had already fallen asleep.


End file.
